The Piano
by sammygolucky
Summary: It's not like The Last Song, but they do have one or two similarities  music love .  Madison Taylor, fifteen, is shipped to another part of England to live with her Uncle Ted after her Mother's suicide and her Father's struggle to afford a living. :
1. Chapter 1

The Piano

It's been a long time since I last saw Uncle Ted. I could only just remember his straggly grey tufts of hair, his olive skin and his soft chocolate eyes. His cheeks were always lifted because he always had a reason to smile. But this time death was the reason we would meet again – last time he coped incredibly well with my Aunty Pamela's death, carrying himself with dignity and only weeping when the coffin was buried… but this time was different.

A month ago, my mother had killed herself. It was unbearable – it still is unbearable. The aching pain in my heart has subsided, and the gut-wrenching guilt I feel is not as strong. She discovered Dad had an affair, she found out about our financial worries and that we could become homeless because he had spent a little too much on his mistress, she found out _everything_. Everything I had been hiding from her for weeks, she discovered in a day.  
>As I stare down at the cracked photo frame, with a picture of her grinning inside, I can't help ask the photo with a broken voice: <em>Mom, what was going through your mind when you did it? <em>I suppose it's just a burden I'll carry for the rest of my life. The night before when she was piecing little snippets together, she stared into my eyes when she told me she loved me. I swear I felt her heart snap in two, her sanity shift as a small hearth of fear glowed in her pupils. Of course no one will tell me it's my fault and will simply blame it on my Father, but I think it's safe to say I share equally the blame.

_3 MONTHS AGO_

While Mom's out shopping and I get in from school, I think about all the great things I have to tell my Dad. I creep into his office but then find myself gawping, astonished, as my Father smooches the woman that is not and never will be my mother. Her hair is scrunched up and tousled from the heat of a forbidden kiss, but those curly blonde locks still fall perfectly on her shoulders. Her blouse is half unbuttoned at the top, as is my Dad's. She looks like a witch to me – her long, lustful fingers snapping at his back and trying to rip out his hair. As he notices me and they pull apart, tears begin to well in my eyes, and suddenly I don't have anything to say to him. He looks half broken, as though he doesn't really know why he's committing adultery, as if for a split second he actually foresaw the future and he knew what was to come. He turns to the woman as he buttons up his shirt, and she seems a bit regretful. "I think… I think you should go." _Yeah, I think she should go too, Dad. _The woman is practically bolting for the door, and I stare at her as she throws herself out the front door and down the porch steps, keys at the ready.

"Maddy," Dad says, trying to follow me as I head for the stairs. "Madison, please wait for my explanation." I turn, exasperated and choking back the tears. "I didn't mean to… I didn't mean for this to happen – me and your mother are having difficulties… you know you're still my little girl." He tries to smile at me, but I spit in his face.

"I might be your little girl," I begin edging away from him. "But you are _not _my Dad, you're a stranger." Then I break down into tears and race up the stairs to my bedroom. From then, I hated him, always.

I'll still remember the way he still wanted his sorry ass to be saved, and pushed me into secrecy with the bribe of Mom's feelings remaining unhurt. I made him stop seeing this woman… but it never completely ended until she died. Dad couldn't afford a living for the both of us and didn't want to lose the house, so he shipped me away to my Uncle Ted's a month after Mom's suicide and told me he would come for me when he had enough to make it work.

But I don't care about any of that anymore, I feel totally desensitized to everything now. When I'm in a fight with my Dad isn't just a stupid argument with stinging words, it's an excuse to try and make myself feel something – anger, hurt, anything… but it never works. Nothing will work.

_PRESENT_

"There's my little Maddy!" Uncle Ted beams as he greets me outside his house. I fake a smile and hug him tight, and Dad dumps the luggage inside my new room, telling me to go unpack while he has a word with Uncle. I pretend that I'm going to my bedroom, but instead peek through the stair railings. My Uncle doesn't look happy to see his brother, and seems irritated by his presence.

"Thanks so much, Edward… it means a lot. Just treat her well, she's a little rough around the edges since Amanda's death… well, we all are… but I think I really hurt that kid." He says, trying his best to sound genuine. My Uncle snorts.

"You think you hurt 'that kid'? Try shooting the poor thing down in the dark, forced her to keep her mouth shut, let her break the news to her own Mother, and allow her make the apology."

"Don't… just stop. I'm trying to undo what I did wrong, it's difficult though. I have to work three jobs just to keep the house and to feed us both, let alone Madison. I've paid the price for what I've done, so cut me some slack." Dad keeps his voice down, but he still manages to sound furious.

"I'll never cut you _some slack_, brother, because Madison paid the price for what you did too." Uncle replies. It makes my Dad shut up, and he calls me down again with his nicest voice.

"Bye, Maddy. I love you." He says, wrapping his arms around me in a big hug. I don't hug him back and wait until he lets go.

"Yeah, bye Dad," I mutter simply, ignoring his 'I love you' because I know if he really did he would have done a lot of things differently. He sighs and heads for the door reluctantly, and gives me one last grudging look, staring at his daughter, remembering when she was his and was proud of it.

The sad part is, I know I still love him – I just wish I didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

The Piano – Chapter 2

"Do you want anything to drink, Maddy?" Uncle Ted's voice echoes from the kitchen – wherever in the house that might be. I walk down the stairs and stumble off the last step, cursing before continuing. The house is bathed in sunlight, revealing its creamy wallpaper and the peeling white paint of the skirting boards. The curtains are a chocolate colour and probably retain more dust that the top of a fridge; and the carpet appears to be Moroccan or French or something. It takes me a few seconds to realize I'm in the living room – it's the same as the rest of the house, except it looks less lived in and neater. The couch is an ivory leather with floral cushions, and the coffee table is glass and pristine.

There is a walkway through one of the walls that connects to the kitchen, in which I see my Uncle Ted pulling out old cartons of juice and lemonade bottles that appear to have lost their fizz a long time ago. "Um… yeah, water thanks." I mumble, pushing my hair out of my eyes as I force myself to look happier. It's difficult, especially as Uncle Ted turns to face me, holding a glass of water.

"Maddy, you know I'm not a fool." He smiles as he passes me the drink. "You don't need to fake smiles and pretend to be happy – it does no good for either of us. Think of this place as your haven; your rest and recuperation. Get this mess out of your system here, I'm happy to help."

Now I don't really know what to say to Uncle Ted – I like my guard being up at all times; it breaks my fall when someone hurts me, it's the bungee cord that bounces me back to reality. 'Getting rest and recuperation' might have helped Uncle Ted cope with things better, but I just know it won't work with me. Just being here I feel weaker and not in control of everything.

"Yeah, okay." I whisper. He nods and pats my shoulder to show his best support and comfort. The warmth in his eyes restores my memories, and suddenly I remember my way around the house and all the great times I've enjoyed in it. He then leaves me alone, strolling into the lounge and reading a newspaper. I flick my head round the kitchen, glancing at old china and broken cupboards. Then something else catches my eye – there's another room. I chase the sunlight shining into it, tracing the checked floor into a golden coloured room with a gorgeous grand piano.

10 YEARS AGO

"Uncle, teach me how to play! Please, Uncle Ted, please?" I have a childish gleam in my eyes, as I wistfully wait for Uncle Ted's answer.

"Yes, my dear, of course!" He says, picking me up and propping me onto the piano's stool. He sits down on the other half and teaches me the first few steps and chords. A few weeks pass and I know all the notes and chords by heart, and I can play three songs, then after almost a year, when I turn six, I can fluently play the piano, but those dreams are easily forgotten when I move on to being fascinated by swimming and being a princess. Playing the piano was just something I'd long forgotten and had left in the closet. All I remembered was that I had a gift for it.

PRESENT

I trail my fingers across the fall that's pressed over the keys and locking them away. The wood is cold and smooth as bone, and is a deep chocolate colour. I open the lid and prop it up and the piano looks like something out of a film. The stool's a little dusty and has the same Aztec fabric cover. I watch my hands slide over the fall to reveal a crystal white keyboard and I fall into place on the seat, preparing to attempt to play something.

The joints in my fingers seem rusty, by now. _This is stupid; you won't remember how to play. You won't even be any good. _My mind argues. I shake my head defiantly and furrow my eyebrows as I try to find the right chords to play an old song uncle taught me. I tried to hope I'd have some talent left, but I couldn't stop faltering and slipping up, pressing the wrong keys and tripping over my own fingers.

The one thing I might still be able to make a connection with – music – had died out, and I could already feel the sting of tears in my eyes.


End file.
